For Your Ears Only
by EleanorKate
Summary: As inspired by Wolfeylady's review of In This Place Where We Meet, a conversation takes place between Chummy & Peter COMPLETE


Chummy breathed heavily as she leant down to pick up the empty pail from where it was tucked behind the kitchen door. Something skittered across the stone floor; an not so unidentifiable creature disturbed as it shot under the table.

"What-ho little Galinthias amoena!" she whispered. She was so used now to strange noises, equally as peculiar animals and insects that something that tiny did not faze her whatsoever. He was only a Praying Mantis after all, one of many that seemed to inhabit their house and she was grateful for them as the creatures did rather keep the pests in the tiny garden at the back in good order. She had probably just disturbed its home or a late afternoon nap and it would slink back shortly.

"I don't know" she whispered, partly to herself and partly to the almost four month old bump that was nestling, rested underneath her bright turquoise Mission uniform. She did not obviously look pregnant quite yet, not really, but by jove did she feel it.

"A lovely bath" she continued, knowing she was alone in the house and no-one would hear her rattling away to herself. "It might just sort out these aching bones of mine".

She was about to lift the pail onto the side, slowly intent on tramping from room to room filling the tin bath from the kettle, when underneath the noise of the rushing water she was sure she heard the front door go.

"Peter?" she asked, looking briefly behind her, expecting him to arrive in the kitchen within moments.

"Only me", he replied seeing her leaning over the sink before turning off the tap.

"What happened to you?" she exclaimed, seeing what looked suspiciously like blood and some kind of other bodily fluid on his shirt. Thankfully neither seemed to be actually coming from him so she could rest easy for a moment.

"Oh" he replied nonchalantly, pulling at the shoulder to examine the marks. "Had to heave a body out of the river. It's dried now though".

"Take it off" she said sharply, walking towards him, sliding the empty pail onto her arm. "That needs washing quickly otherwise it will never come out". How many times had he turned up with blood, mud or beer on his uniform and how many hours had she spent scrubbing it off; or trying to. It was worse now he was dressed in the fawn shirt and shorts of the Colonial Police that showed every mark. For once in her life she would be pleased to see navy and powder blue again.

He was still not used to this new uniform either. Shorts to go work in? He'd get laughed off the streets in London. "Take it off!" she repeated.

"Your attempts at seduction are second to none Camilla" he muttered undoing the buttons.

"Give it here" she said holding out her hand.

"As I said I would have hoped for at least a cup of tea first before you had your wicked way with me…." She cursed that look he was giving her entirely but she couldn't help smiling.

"Have you had a good day?" he asked, the shirt coming off his shoulders.

She nodded taking the material, but hesitating. "Well apart from…"

"From?" he asked, pulling his vest from the belt of his shorts.

"No!" she exclaimed, examining the red mark on his shirt, scratching it with her nail. "One can't!"

Peter frowned at her for a moment, face suddenly falling serious. "Camilla, what's wrong? You know you can tell me anything".

She looked up him. "One can't" she repeated, handing him the bucket. She knew without hesitation that he would insist now on filling the bath for her so there was little point in arguing about it. She went to slip past him.

"Hold on". She felt him take hold of her elbow. "Has something been said?"

"No, no" she replied, thinking he meant that may be there had been comments about her. "It was about one of my patients; something the father of the child said when we arrived to deliver about the mother. It was…." She paused for a moment. "It could be deemed to be offensive".

"So tell me" he said, wondering what on earth it was, wondering what it could be to cause her such clear embarrassment. "Duya?" She felt the squeeze of his hand on her arm.

"No Peter!" she replied. "Don't speak to me in Krio". He knew more of the language than she did, even though she was rapidly learning. At least she knew 'duya' meant 'please'.

"Camilla. You don't hear some of the things I get called of a night in Poplar. They'd make your hair curl. I doubt you'll be able to shock me". He was now following her into the front room, clear to him it was bothering her.

"Tell me what's wrong", he repeated, happy to know it was nothing serious but she was still holding back. "If you don't, I'll force it out of you and I don't mean breaking out the thumbscrews. You know I can". He stepped forward and put his palms on her hips, having ditched the bucket already.

She looked at him, entirely mortified that she was now backed into a corner. She leant over and whispered in his ear.

"Camilla!" he exclaimed, hands dropping, eyes wide and incredulous. She couldn't see, her mind so occupied, that he was pretending.

"See? One knew you'd react!" She bustled away from him but stopped immediately. "_And_ you didn't have to ask me what it meant!"

"I know" he replied, casually, having picked up more expletives and insults in a few weeks than he had in years in London. She went to shoot off again back to the kitchen, thoroughly mortified.

"Camilla, come here you daft….." he said, quietly, following her again. "You don't need to be nervous of me. I thought you knew that already? "

"Yes but.." she started, seeing his face cracking. "What?"

"I will give you its descriptive!" Peter said, unable to help the smile.

"Why are you so amused?" The more she was fussing made it altogether more entertaining; even though he wasn't laughing at her but more the situation.

"When you said that, you sounded so…." He was struggling for the word. "_Pure"._

He knew no-one had touched her but him and despite the fact that here was little self about Peter Noakes, knowing she had only ever been his was the only egocentric thought he could be accused of being guilty of. He sat down on a kitchen chair, filling the bath forgotten for a moment in the yo-yoing between rooms.

"Don't look at me like that" she remarked, smoothing down her uniform as he looked up at her.

"Like what?" he asked, turning on his seat so he could see she had walked back to the kettle.

"Like you are peeling my skin off" she remarked, not quite sure she could articulate how that look she had seen when she had been wearing that green dress about to visit his parents was now there again on his face. Eyes scraping up from head to toe and it still made her self-conscious even thinking about that moment when she had seen, or perhaps _recognised_ for the first time, that he might just actually desire her. She was slowly learning what that was but there were still those moments where she plainly just did not _understand._

"That's not quite what it was meant to be Camilla". He stood up, leaning next to her against the flimsy worktop. He dropped a kiss to her clothed shoulder.

"I know" she replied admonished. He knew she still struggled. A lifetime of keeping your feelings to yourself – whether they be anger, rage, fear or passion – still tracked her, despite his words to the contrary.

"I know" she repeated.

"I still can't believe you had to whisper that to me though!" Peter said, at least still internally chuckling at the tone of her voice.

"Because it's filthy Peter" she replied, hoping her skin wasn't going to turn and thankfully it didn't.

"It's not too bad" he replied as she swung her head round, raising an eyebrow. "I could tell you much much worse; much much worse".

Something flashed in her eyes. "You're curious" he said.

"No" she replied, shaking her head, but laughing too.

"How about I tell you what I was thinking about on the way home and we're evens?" he offered.

She squinted at him, weighing up the situation wondering what one earth it could be for the fifteen minute walk, in the late afternoon after all, that would make her declaration pale into insignificance. "Well you always tell me I have to broaden my horizons!" she said bravely.

This time she did go red. Bright, intense, scarlet as he breathed what had occupied him for the short journey home and it was about her; unrepeatable in public and firmly for her ears only.

She's be keeping that to herself, thank you very much. Oh yes she would.


End file.
